


The Big Picture

by DixieDale



Category: Hogan's Heroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-06 16:56:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15890196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: Looking at the big picture is all well and good.  Still, sometimes in limiting your view to the big picture, you lose sight of other important things.   When a young American sergeant doesn't return from a simple assignment, that is made all too painfully clear to the men of Barracks Two, Stalag 13.





	The Big Picture

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place very early on, shortly after Carter joins the team.

Hogan was concerned that Carter hadn't returned from that information drop, of course. Had Kinch put in a call to the Underground, only to find that the young sergeant, dressed in civilian clothes, had been caught up in that sudden sweep of other men forceably enlisted to drive trucks in that convoy headed west. According to Rene, the Germans were being very particular in who they selected; all seemed to be of a certain type - young (well, at least under eighty), two hands, not blind, still breathing. Well, Carter met that description, well enough; it was just bad luck for him to have been spotted and gathered into the group.

But somehow, Newkirk understood that, for Hogan, it was, well, not a superfical concern, of course, since being missing a man could, would cause problems; and, of course, if Carter was recognized as an American, was questioned and talked, that could jeopardize everything. Still, it was obvious that the senior prisoner of war was concerned far more for how it all affected the mission, how it would affect FUTURE missions, rather than for the man himself. After all, Hogan was the man in charge; he had to think of the big picture.

As Hogan explained the harsh realities to the other men in the barracks, that a rescue attempt just wasn't possible right now; that the operation in Hammelburg had to take priority, as London had classified it as absolute Top Priority, taking precedence over everything else, Newkirk's blood chilled as he understood, at least let himself see perhaps for the first time, just where the men in Hogan's command fit in the scheme of things. Oh, he knew and understood the overall mission was bigger than any one individual. He knew and accepted they all had an excellent chance of dying, getting killed doing the job they'd signed on to do. He was no fool; though they all talked about 'after the war', he had no illusion he'd get a chance at such a thing.

Still, their young Andrew Carter was out there probably about to get his head shot off and Hogan had seemed more concerned about the fit of his dress uniform, practicing that little bit of misdirection he had in mind for later that evening, than he was about their missing teammate. Newkirk tried to tell himself, perhaps that was because it was the newcomer; that Hogan, though a responsible senior officer and concerned for the welfare of the men assigned to him, just hadn't had time to become personally attached. After all Andrew hadn't been with them very long, just a very few weeks, and didn't have any particular skills to add to the group, other than his eager willingness to help. Surely, if it were LeBeau, or Kinch, or Olsen, himself, surely that would have made a difference, maybe not in Hogan's final decision, but in his level of concern.

Newkirk took another look at the handsome officer straightening his cuffs, rubbing his handkerchief over that top button. He shoved the sudden doubt down deeper into that room in his mind where he kept things he didn't want to think about. {"Bloody room is getting too bloody crowded; gonna 'ave to build on before long!"} he growled to himself.

Newkirk knew there were any number of ways this could end, none of them pleasant. And knowing Andrew, he'd probably stumble into the head guard before long and start apologizing, in his distinctive Midwest English, of course, just out of habit. He just couldn't see how Andrew Carter could keep quiet enough to avoid detection, and even without that, Newkirk doubted any convoy headed west that had to forceably conscript drivers could be expected to return safely. Somehow the whole thing had 'Headed For The Western Front' written all over the title page of that scenario.

{"Bloody 'ell, Andrew!!"} he agonized inside. While Hogan maybe hadn't had time to get attached, Newkirk had found himself the exasperated and unwilling victim of those innocent, eager to please eyes almost from the beginning. He may not understand it, had tried fighting it, bewildered at his own reaction to someone who should have just annoyed the hell out of him, but had given it up as a lost cause after just a few days.

Seems Andrew Carter had sneaked in under his defenses like very few ever had. Didn't mean he'd intended to SHOW just how fond he was of the irritating little twit, though!!! No, sir, not Peter Newkirk! Now, it looked like he'd lost the opportunity to even use all those brilliant ways he'd planned to illustrate that point, and found that a very disheartening thought indeed.

Now he considered the options, hard and fast. Could he and Kinch and LeBeau and Olsen change the script? With Hogan heading off with the Kommandant to socialize at the gathering in Hammelburg, the Kommandant to play eager sycophant to the Brass, Hogan to be presented as a 'model, German-leaning prisoner, ideal for propaganda purposes', maybe, just maybe they could pull it off. One thing for sure, Hogan was going to be unhappy with their initiative, whatever the outcome. If they succeeded, they'd hear about how they'd jeopardized the mission. And if they blew it, got caught, were identified, the shit was really going to hit the fan, for them and for everyone else. 

Did he dare bring the others into this, knowing all that? Well, HE was going to do something, and he rather thought at least LeBeau would be willing. Louie seemed fond of young Andrew as well; in fact, everyone in the barracks seemed to like him. For all his chattering and flat-out naivete, he was a likeable sort. But Olsen rarely got involved in the operation outside the wire, except for being their 'outside man' when needed, and Kinch? Kinch was pretty much by the book, might try and stop them totally, just repeat what Hogan had told them, that they had to look at the 'big picture'.

Well, Newkirk didn't WANT to look at the bloody 'big picture'; he wanted to look at Andrew, fussing and chattering and stumbling over a crack in the floor and making a general nuisance of himself. 

Then, even LeBeau wasn't available; according to Schultz, the chef at the Hammelburg reception had sliced open his hand, and now LeBeau had been commandeered to fill in. There'd been no time to argue, though LeBeau had cast anxious brown eyes back at Newkirk; the Frenchman didn't know if he was more worried that Newkirk WOULDN'T do something to help Carter, or that the volatile Englishman intended to strike out on his own, probably to get himself captured or killed.

The three men watched in silence as Schultz escorted Hogan and LeBeau out to the waiting vehicle.

"Think I'm gonna get a start on those suits we'll need for the next batch due in," Newkirk had said casually, turning to head over to the bunk that gave them access to the tunnels below. By the time he'd turned around totally, Olsen and Kinch were standing between him and that route to the outside.

A raw, stubborn look came over the Englishman, turning him into someone more dangerous-looking than the man they usually saw, and he grated out, low and firm, "I think you two need to move aside."

Olsen glanced over at Kinch, and Kinch let a slow grim smile come to his face.

"So, Pete. How do you see this happening? What do you have in mind for getting Andrew home again?" Newkirk searched their eyes, saw their intent. Not to stop him. No, to hear him out and, hopefully, help him carry out that little task. He stopped, dropped to sit on Carter's bunk.

"Well, 'ere's 'ow I see it playing out," and they came to sit on the bench in front of him, listening, running the whole scenario over in their minds. Finally, he stopped, raised one eyebrow, waited.

Finally Kinch nodded, "yeah, it could just work. The timing's tricky, but just might be possible."

A phone call, in Kinch's best German authoritarian officer voice, had gained the route of the convoy; luckily, it seemed they'd only gone a few miles after the conscription, due to bad weather, and were stuck til the weather cleared. Actually, the weather wasn't so bad, and they weren't all that stuck, but the sergeant in charge had a fancy for one last decent meal, a drink and some female companionship before what looked like a very long trip, and he'd gotten a good look at the barmaid at the local tavern and got inspired. So they were in place for at least one day if not more. Various other calls took care of the need for transportation, a quick raiding of the wardrobe below, as well as a couple of tool kits, and they were off.

It was an interesting experience, one none of them really wanted to repeat, but the reward was more than worth it, they thought. Three men headed out through that tunnel, four made their weary way back, climbed that ladder into the barracks. 

Carter, once again started thanking them effusively, telling them for the third time all about the whole adventure from the time he'd left the tunnel and headed into town.

"Boy! It was really scary! At first I thought they were going to shoot me, not just turn me into a truck driver! I couldn't believe it when I saw you guys! How'd you ever pull it off? And stealing those papers from that sergeant, making it look like they only started with eight trucks instead of nine, I still don't see . . ."

Kinch sighed a deep sigh, thinking about how they were going to explain this to the Colonel. Olsen listened to the chattery voice coming from their highly animated teammate and grinned, and Newkirk? He rolled his eyes in a show of sheer impatient exasperation.

"Andrew??! Get in your bunk!" watching with amused satisfaction as the young man scurried to do just that.

Yes, Andrew was back; now, just to deal with the Colonel when he found out. {"Gonna be bloody pissed, 'e is."} Glancing over at a piously repentent Andrew Carter, perched in his bunk, he couldn't find himself all that worried about Hogan's mood. {"Time enough to worry about that when 'e DOES figure it out,"} he shrugged, and got settled in his own bunk. Staring at the bare wooden ceiling, he listened as Andrew's breathing slowed into a much needed sleep. He smiled, and drifted off, contented.

Hogan and LeBeau got back hours later, Hogan well pleased with how well he'd been able to manipulate those officials from Berlin. He'd even gotten in a little flirting with that tall blonde secretary; well, a little more than that, what with that handy cloakroom being right off the banquet hall. They weren't there long, but thinking back, Hogan chuckled to himself. {"Long enough!"}

LeBeau had been silent the whole trip back; well, Hogan knew the Frenchman resented being put to work cooking for the Germans, but it was sometimes necessary and LeBeau might sulk for a day or two, but he'd get over it. Now, just getting the guys over losing Carter; even though the Top Priority mission had been accomplished, it was probably too late to do anything for the hapless sergeant. Well, he'd look into it tomorrow, see if there might be some way to accomplish that; even if there wasn't, at least it should appease the men, knowing he was making the effort.

{"Maybe the next recruit will have more valuable skills, be able to contribute more than just running messages and delivering parts. We could always use a few more talents around here,"} he mused to himself. {"Now, just how to deal with this when Schultz reports Carter missing. Hmmm, yes . . ."} and his mind started coming up with ideas.

They entered the dark barracks and went to bed, LeBeau in his bunk, Hogan in the separate quarters assigned to him as the senior prisoner of war. Hogan was asleep well before a startled LeBeau recognized that deep sigh from a bunk that should have been painfully vacant. The little Frenchman sat up, stared into the darkness at that shifting figure in the bunk below Newkirk's, and then chuckled. {"Mon Dieu, he did it! Somehow, he did it!"}

Hogan heard Schultz pounding, shouting "Roll Call!! Raus, raus! Roll Call!" He was still brushing his hair, and took his time putting on his jacket and cap, letting the other men get into position before he sauntered out of his quarters and out the barracks door. Moving quickly into his usual position in the front row, next to Newkirk, he waited, getting his spiel ready for when Carter's absence was discovered.

He stood, cocky grin on his face, only to have the grin disappear in disbelief when the hefty German sergeant, breathing hard, snapped to attention to face the bleary-eyed Klink and proudly proclaimed, "All present and accounted for, Herr Kommandant!" Slowly Hogan turned, to see an innocent-faced Andrew Carter in the back row, then even more slowly turned his head to the nonchalant Englishman standing next to him. 

Hogan had been prepared to lower the boom once back inside. If Carter was someone who could cause his men to disobey him, ignore his orders, then Carter was out of here! He opened his mouth but before he could get started, Carter had offered, "Oh, Colonel. I just remembered, I forgot to ask earlier. Isn't there something more around here I could do? Like, maybe, do you need me to make bombs and stuff like that? I'm really good at that. Did I ever tell you guys about how I blew up a wing of my high school? Of course, that was just an accident, well, sort of anyway. But after I got called up, they taught me a whole lot about bombs - explosives, timers, fuses and all that; I was first in my class!" 

Somehow, that put a halt to Hogan's intention of sending Carter out with the next bunch of escapees and getting someone else in here to replace him. Someone who could handle explosives would prove quite valuable. No, he still didn't like his men going behind his back like that, but he'd have a good long talk with Newkirk later, and Kinch too. He couldn't see Olsen being involved in the first place, and frankly was more than a little surprised at Kinch.

Newkirk, well, he was capable of most anything, had a deep rebellious streak, Hogan knew, though he still didn't get why the English corporal would have disobeyed him over Carter. Now, if it had been LeBeau, he would have understood better; they had been friends from well before Hogan had arrived. Carter, though, that Hogan didn't quite understand; the man had only just arrived, for crying out loud!

Hogan didn't LIKE having things he didn't understand - that made him feel like he didn't have total control over things, over the people around him, and he didn't like that one little bit. Oh well, at least he was getting an explosives expert out of the whole thing.

After the senior prisoner of war departed for an afternoon chess game with the Kommandant, LeBeau had asked, a little hesitantly, "Andrew, do you really know how to make bombs? Because if you do NOT, the Colonel is going to be very upset."

Wide brown eyes met his with a sincere gaze, "well, sure! I just didn't think to mention it before, what with settling in and trying to learn everybody's names and, well, just everything! Just, that truck I was driving, it was filled with all that kinda stuff, and it got me thinking that maybe you all could use someone to do stuff like that. Sure glad we were able to bring it back with us, the truck, I mean. Rene seemed really happy with it. Hey, Newkirk, you think the Underground will let me borrow some of it, if I need it. I mean, it was really good stuff! It wouldn't take me anytime and I could have lots of neat bombs all put together. Then, bang! Boom! Kapow!" he enthused.

Newkirk just growled, with a heavy frown, forcing himself to keep a grin off his face at the sight of Andrew's excited face, his hands making those wild explosive motions. "Andrew, just get in your bunk and shut up, alright??? I'm bloody well tired of listening to you natter on," but somehow those innocent eyes caught the jaded blue-green ones and understood how untrue that was.

A slow happy grin came over the young man, "sure, Newkirk, whatever you say."

LeBeau looked from one to the other, blinking, trying to analyze what he'd almost seen, almost heard, but then gave a Gallic shrug. If nothing else, he could see he'd been right; Pierre had let at least one other person inside that prickly barricade of his. If there was more to it, sooner or later, it would all make sense, he was sure. If they survived that long.


End file.
